permission to pause
Don’t make me stop.
Don’t make me sit.
Don’t make me stand still.
I don’t want my thoughts catching up with me.
I don’t want to feel.
I don’t want to work through the mess of emotions buried underneath.
Just keep me going —
on adrenaline and coffee.
For as long as I can remember, movement has been my guard.
Physically. Mentally. Emotionally.
As long as I kept going, I didn’t have to look inward.
As long as I kept moving, I could outrun it.
Whatever “it” was.
But somewhere over the past year…
something shifted.
Not because I asked for it.
Not because I was ready.
But because life — something bigger than me — the divine, the universe, whatever you want to call it —
placed me in situations, in environments, that forced me to slow down.
To take a deep breath.
To acknowledge how far I’ve come.
To recalibrate — my values, my goals, myself.
To work with what I have.
To stop chasing.
To sit in the stillness of a dark room
and feel everything there is to feel — within me.
That’s one side of it.
The other?
Is the part I’m still learning to accept:
that my body needs breaks.
I am not a machine.
I can’t go — physically or mentally — 24/7.
And the harder I try, the louder my body pushes back.
Until it gives out.
Until I get sick.
Until all I can do is sleep.
I guess what makes that so hard to accept is the shame that comes with it.
This deep, nagging belief that if I rest, I’m letting people down.
That I’m not worthy unless I‘m productive.
That needing a break makes me weak.
That needing time out makes me… less.
And weakness?
That’s the last thing I ever want to feel.
But I need to.
I need to know my weaknesses.
To be aware of them.
To not fear them.
And hopefully — someday — to accept them.
Because knowing where I’m soft doesn’t make me fragile.
It makes me real.
And maybe, just maybe —
working with my weaknesses
has always been one of my greatest strengths.
Maybe the work isn’t in pushing through, but in learning when to stop.
Maybe strength looks a little different than I thought.
Maybe it’s quiet.
Still.
Soft.
Patient.
Maybe the permission I’ve been waiting for —
is mine to give.
So long, keep growing. Until we meet again.